Intermission

Aren’t those tree-wrapping tubes splendid? I am old enough to remember the tribulations of trying to carry a spiky tree done up randomly with string; they always used to escape bonds while still some distance from home and one would arrive prickled and cursing, trying to keep the branches out of one’s nose. Today’s trees are better disciplined. Mine is now lurking in the dark garage, still imprisoned in its netting, with its foot in a bucket of water, awaiting a glorious transmogrification before the inevitable end.

In a moment of energy I washed a lot of windows. And then I lolled with some time to do a few December things:

Pottering in the garden I observed the honeysuckle still obstinately flowering

and in obscure corners the primmies have started early,

though I can’t claim to have daffodils yet.

The very last cherry tomatoes; I’ve tossed the plants from the conservatory, exhausted but still trying.

Reading time allocated to Edward Pellew. Taylor’s book interesting, but somehow his writing felt a little clunky.

Why OCD is a serious condition: an eye-opener, and a good reading too.